God Must Hate Me

When my life feels like it's getting better...

It will always find a way to make it crap. ALWAYS. My life sucks. Screw you, at least you have your highs. Mine are all lows.

This year's mid-years are finally the exams where I felt confident that I would pass all, and pass well.

Well, fucking guess what? I passed, but all low passes, and I failed at least 1 subject so far. Damn it, it just makes the failure in life hurt more. Screw you, god.

Then today was NAPFA. I thought I could, you know, pass. Then after the first round, I started having pains in my chest, my lungs were straining and weirdest of all, my vision sorta had these black moments.

Then I failed.

AGAIN.

FOR THREE FUCKING YEARS, I'VE NEVER, EVER, FUCKING PASSED THAT DAMN 2.4.

I'm Not a long distance runner, 100-200m, sure, I can, 2.4km, no freaking way.

Sure, call me a wimp, sissy, little bastard, see if I care. I can take over three hits to the solar plexus, ten to the lower arm, two to the collar bone and five to the stomach, with three blisters on my feet and still keep going.

I hate my life.

It sucks. Hard. There's nothing good about it. When I came home, I felt naturally pissed. So I was talking in a more irritated voice, which is already good enough. Naturally, I'd be cussing, shouting and....More swearing.

And guess what, my mom had the nerve to say, "Well, maybe you should get off your butt and start exercising."

*Blink*

I don't know what to respond to this....How about...

HAVE YOU SEEN YOUR FUCKING ASS IN THE MIRROR LATELY!? IT'S HUGE.

Come to think of it, I've never seen her exercising. She calls cleaning the house and doing housework her 'exercise.' Goddamn, sure, that's exercise...If you do it consistently. GEEZ, you are not consisten with housework, otherwise we wouldn't have mount everest as a clothing dump.

Hey, and turns out that's my fault too, for not helping.

Well, guess what? I tried helping once and you asked me to fuck off. Those bins holding the clothes in? Yea, I built them. That sofa bed? Built by yours truly. The lamp? Wired up and assembled by me.

Well, except one of the bins. Come on, I'm human. I need a break. I spent nearly a whole day during my 2006 december holidays making those. So I thought maybe my mom could take on of the bins. Nothing too complicated, hammer work all the way.

Hey, she complained. Hey, my dad got pissed at me.

Hey, blame the kid. Always works. Always the best way out, just shift the blame to someone who can't shift it anymore.

And then I can't voice my anger to them. It's always a 'I'm your mother and you should respect me!'

Sorry, buddy, that doesn't work anymore. True, I should respect you. That doesn't mean I should have to take your crap and never be able to voice it out! I can't even talk to my parents anymore! I never know what's safe and not to talk about.

And yet they want to know why I don't communicate with them.

Fuck this shit.

They never say it, but I know they are very disappointed in me. Why? I have a sister that outshines me. I don't blame her.

I blame my parents who has seen perfection and won't settle for anything less.

Except my dad. He's cool.

You know what? I've had it with this shitty life.

Some people live to change the world.

Some live to do great things

Hell, some even live to do evil.

I'm here just to show people how not to live their lives. A warning symbol, if you like.

God, I hate you. Everyone says you're benevolent, but I don't think so. I don't even think you exist anymore. I used to think that maybe you did, felt good that there might just be someone watching over you.

Not anymore. I discovered the hard way that there's no one watching over anyone. It's a cruel world out there, and you just have to fend for yourself.

Again, God, I hate you. You made my life a living hell.

And I'm going to show you that's not going to break me. I'm better than that.

~Schizo